


Sad Az, Mad Az, and Crowley the Diving Diva

by athousandelegies



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 12:06:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5827927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athousandelegies/pseuds/athousandelegies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3 prompts I answered on tumblr in which I had to incorporate a line into a short fic - first two are angst, the third is just silly: 1) Aziraphale laments the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah; 2) Aziraphale accuses Crowley of committing a horrible crime; Crowley tries to impress Az on the diving board and Az is too busy reading Chernow's Hamilton to notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Shh, c'mere…" Crowley found himself murmuring. He opened his arms to his angelic counterpart, simultaneously showing that he held no weapons and offering an embrace.

To his astonishment, Heaven's agent accepted the gesture: Aziraphale crumpled into his Adversary's arms after only a moment's hesitation. Whatever happened must have him really shaken, Crowley mused.

The angel sobbed into Crowley's chest, quickly soaking his tunic with tears and snot. The demon raised his hand slowly, carefully, and scrunched his fingers up in Aziraphale's thick dark curls. The angel's shoulders froze and tensed a moment, then relaxed, permitting the comforting touch.

They stood that way for several minutes, Crowley gently stroking his Enemy's hair and watching the billowing smoke that curled into a blood-red sky in the distance.

"Th-they're dead, C-Crowley," Aziraphale snuffled, his voice muffled in the demon's tunic. Crowley felt each exhale of breath, the movement of lips pressed into Crowley's chest as the angel spoke. His heart began to pump out a strange warmth into his limbs, his fingers tingling where they stroked Aziraphale's curls. It was like the adrenaline of battle, and yet…something else entirely.

"All of them," Aziraphale continued. "Whole _cities_ of people. Flooded with Heaven's flames…" He raised his head from Crowley's chest to gaze desperately into his Adversary's eyes, as if seeking answers within their golden depths. " _Why?_ "

Crowley's heart twisted; he had no answer that could quench the pain smoldering in those plaintive brown eyes. He tried for what the angel always told _him_ : "It mussst be…ineffable, right? Part of a plan?"

Aziraphale lowered his gaze. "Of course," he said hollowly. "The Plan."

Before he could think about it, Crowley moved one hand to the angel's chin, raising Aziraphale's head so their eyes again met. They regarded one another for a moment, and then Crowley leaned forward, broke the small space between their lips.

The kiss was long, slow, deep, Crowley's lips pressing and caressing his counterpart's, doing his best to transfer some mode of comfort into the exchange. For the first minute, both of them kept their mouths closed, until Crowley decided to take a risk: he parted his lips and, taking care to be gentle, nipped at Aziraphale's impossibly plump lower lip with his sharp teeth.

The angel recoiled.

"Sssssorry!" Crowley said quickly, reaching out to pull Aziraphale back. "I didn't mean—"

Aziraphale gazed at him for a long moment. "You old serpent," he said — disgustedly? or was there a hint of fondness in his words? — and then plumes burst from his shoulder blades. With one powerful downward thrust of wings, he took off into the crimson sky.

Crowley licked his lips and tasted a bead of blood, warm and ambrosia-sweet. He savored the taste as he watched the angel fade into the distance.


	2. Chapter 2

"I don't know, I swear!" Crowley protested, wincing as his back slammed into the wall behind him (brick is a particularly insolent building material, and remained stubbornly solid as he hit it, so it really did _hurt_ ). "Az, please, believe me, I didn't _touch_ those people —"

" _Believe you?_ " Aziraphale raged, and Crowley's stomach plummeted. He knew that voice, that look in his counterpart's eyes. Heavenly wrath was upon him. "Do you think an Agent of Heaven would fall for your serpent lies?"

He shuddered, grateful for the protection his sunglasses offered him from the intensity of Aziraphale's glare, fierce yet distant, as if it were seeing Crowley as something _beyond_ Crowley: evil to be crushed, not a long-time business-associate-turned-something-like-a-friend. If looks could kill…

"So what will it be, serpent?" Aziraphale's voice resounded through the alley, ringing painfully in Crowley's ears like heavenly gongs. "Will you confess of your own accord, or must I smite an answer from you?"

The demon writhed, trying to slip away, and his wrists scraped painfully against the brick where Aziraphale had him pinned. "Az, I'm _begging_ you — "

Suddenly, the alley flooded with ethereal light. _Shit_. A visitor.

Aziraphale whipped his head around to see the source of the glow, and Crowley took advantage of his distraction to slip from the angel's grasp. He scrambled behind a dumpster, hoping that would be enough to hide him from the Sight of whatever heavenly being had beamed down.

"Aziraphale." Crowley shuddered behind his dumpster; he recognized that reverberating voice.

"Speak, Gabriel. I listen."

"I trust you have heard on the news about a certain…disaster in downtown London by this time."

"Indeed, Gabriel, and I am already in the process of making the instigators pay—" Aziraphale began to say, while the voice emanating from the beam of light said,

"Heaven found this unfortunate incident necessary. We don't believe you need to know the details of _why_ ; simply have faith that it was ineffable."

Aziraphale's shoulders fell. Even though Crowley could not see the angel's eyes from this angle, he knew that the righteous fury had faded from them.

"You…you mean that… _Heaven_ caused…" Aziraphale's voice was weak, defeated.

"Yes." Gabriel's voice said, a hint of annoyance in its tone. "As I said, ineffable. Anyhow, we need you to go to the scene of the event and clean things up. Feel free to assist survivors — those we needed dead, are."

"I-it will be done," Aziraphale replied hollowly.

"Good." The beam of light dissolved away, leaving the alley in shadow.

Crowley crawled out from behind his dumpster.

"Az, I'm — "

Aziraphale held up a hand to silence him. The angel's head was bowed, and Crowley got the feeling he was avoiding making eye contact.

"I apologize for…assuming, my dear boy. I'm sure you…understand."

"Of course," Crowley said, not bothering to keep the bitterness from his tone. "Catastrophe strikes and naturally it's going to be the demon's fault."

Aziraphale lifted his head at last, gaze meeting Crowley's. His deep brown eyes were brimming with tears.

"I must go now," the angel said. "Help the survivors…"

"Wait!" Crowley reached a hand to catch Aziraphale's arm as he turned to leave. "Angel…you don't need to go alone."

To the demon's relief, a small, exhausted smile broke over his counterpart's lips. "Oh?"

"Yep. Consider me a pseudo-guardian angel today." He squeezed Aziraphale's arm. "There will be plenty of people in need of some miracles over there, I'm sure."

"Thank you," Aziraphale said, sounding as much like an apology as a display of gratitude.

"Well, come on then," Crowley said, "let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

"Didn't you see what I did?!"

"I'm sorry, er…when?" Aziraphale asked, looking up from his book to observe the dripping demon standing in swim trunks in front of him. Crowley's long black hair looked quite _cute_ when it was soaked and sticking up every which way, Aziraphale noted.

"Just _now_!" Crowley wailed, flailing his hands about. Aziraphale pointedly moved his book out of range of the water droplets that flecked off his counterpart's fingertips. "The _incredible_ two-flip dive I just executed _flawlessly_!"

"Oh dear, I'm afraid I didn't, no," Aziraphale said apologetically. "Could you…try it again, perhaps?"

"I can _try_ ," Crowley sighed, "but I doubt such a perfect dive can come along more than once in a lifetime — even when the lifetime in question is extended as long as ours are." Despite this complaint, the demon made his way back to the ladder of the diving board. " _Watch_ this time!" he called back to the angel.

"I am, I am," Aziraphale replied absentmindedly, his eyes straying back to the book in his lap. It was a delightful biography on one of the United States' founding fathers; he'd heard it being touted as the perfect beach read by a certain playwright not long back and figured it would be suitable for this day at the pool Crowley had dragged him along to.

He vaguely remembered meeting the founding father in question at a party, way back at the turn of the nineteenth century. A very vivacious, very flirtatious man, he recalled. But men of a certain…disposition _always_ tended to be flirtatious around Aziraphale; he supposed they assumed he was a gay man.

How silly of them, he mused. Of course he wasn't a _man_.

"Well?" a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Hmm?" He raised his head from his book to peer up at Crowley, who stood before him once again, dark hair dripping onto those sturdy, sleek shoulders of his.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Crowley fumed, throwing his hands in the air. He stormed off, back towards the diving board (or rather, attempted to —the sound of bare feet slapping across damp cement mostly negates the effects of a good storming off).

Aziraphale shrugged his shoulders and returned once more to his book. "Poor Eliza," he murmured, turning a page.

"CANNON BAAAAALL!" _Splash_.

"Ahhhhghhh!"

A huge wave had rolled up from the pool to douse Aziraphale, book and all, in water. (No swimming pool before or since has ever been party to so mighty a wave.)

As he spluttered and shuddered and tried desperately to dry his book, Aziraphale ears pricked at the sound of loud cackling emanating from the pool (the water level of which had lowered considerably.

"You _fiend_ ," he snarled as Crowley climbed up out of the pool and approached, still guffawing.

"Guilty as charged," the demon chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye.

"This is," Aziraphale bemoaned, "an extremely valuable book…only two copies of it left in the whole world…"

"You're _lying_ ," Crowley said, awe evident in his voice. "You're actually _lying_ , angel." His lips curled up in a devious smile. "I'm so proud."

"How dare you accuse me of such a thing," Aziraphale said, affronted. "…Well, either way, the book is ruined."

"No, it's not."

"What, don't be ridiculous, yes it is — oh." Aziraphale glanced down to see that the book was dry as a could be, its pages smooth and crisp, not wavy and water-damaged. He looked up again at the demon, who winked.

"Now that the pool's too shallow to do any more dives in," Crowley said, pulling Aziraphale up from his lounge chair, "let's go get some lunch."

"Fine," Aziraphale huffed, "but you're paying."

"Well, it's going to be cheap pool stand hot dogs, so why not."

"And put a damn shirt on, will you?"

"As you wish."


End file.
